


That Pivotal Moment

by MissDizzyD



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Derek goes temporarily AWOL, First Kiss, Gen, Hunters, Hurt Derek, Jealous Derek, Lydia knows everything, M/M, Mates, Panicky Stiles, Pixies, Sick Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-10-05
Packaged: 2017-12-26 20:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDizzyD/pseuds/MissDizzyD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A.K.A - Five Times That Stiles Wanted to Kiss Derek and the One Time There Was a Role Reversal. Derek and Stiles experience five moments that eventually lead to Derek facing his feelings and not being an arse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pixies

Stiles flashed back to over two years earlier when they’d been in exactly the same position – Derek waiting in the car while Stiles took a look inside at what should’ve been a harmless situation, just looking out for anything suspicious that could lead then to their quarry. This time, though, their quarrel was not a psychotic uncle who wasn’t quite as comatose as they expected, but a gang of pixies. _Pixies!_ They were supposed to be cute creatures who mended shoes, not vicious killers who preyed on small children and animals. Yes, so it was similar to last time what with the murders and Stiles feeling way out of his depth, creeping around a dark building late at night. All that was missing was-

“Stiles, get out of there, now! The pixies are here!” Derek yelled at him through the phone.

Exactly that. That was exactly what was missing. Derek shouting at him that their little search had not gone unnoticed by the enemy. His voice was muffled enough to make Stiles think he’d shifted and his fangs were getting in the way. If he’d shifted then danger (and, by extension, pain) were imminent. Stiles quashed all negatives thoughts and vile expletives in favour of madly looking around the dentist surgery he was in. Derek had said to get out, but he knew it was too late for that now and his next best chance of survival was to hide. And quickly. He ripped open the door closest to him and threw himself in, hoping that there were no creepy pixie warriors in there. When he had reassured himself that he was alone, he leant against a wall and sank down to the floor, taking the opportunity to look around his hiding place.

There were shelves and shelves of weird tooth-y products, bottles of dangerous blue stuff, boxes of coveralls and a selection of brooms leaning against each other in the corner. It was crammed full of all the things necessary to keep a dentist running. Oh, it was also frigging _tiny_ \- way too small for Stiles to be comfortable. Only 4 feet square with a low ceiling. 

Damn, why did it always happen to him? Why not one of the invincible werewolves he’s surrounded by? Why not the Alpha? Why was it always the scrawny human?! He could feel himself getting hysterical, breath short and sharp like someone was squeezing his windpipe and frying his lungs in one of those deep fat fryers that they have at places like Taco Bell that taste heavenly, but are really bad for cholesterol...

He heard a car door slamming, reminding him that Derek was still waiting for him to say something – anything – to confirm that he was still alive. 

“Derek, the walls are closing in, I’m not sure that’s normal.” Stiles managed to spit out between panicky, laboured breaths, “It’s only normal if you’re in one of those funfair things but then it’s totally safe!” He huffed in another breath. _“This is not a funfair, Derek!”_

“Breathe, Stiles!” 

“Still breathing,” He snapped, the assertion being only slightly spoiled by the lack of oxygen in his lungs. “Or, I’d probably, be dead, right now – that’s how oxygen works, you need it or you die. _Someone_ obviously failed biology.”

Derek huffed a bit more heavily in his best approximation of a laugh then became serious again.

“Talk, Stiles, you need to stay calm.” He said. Stiles thought briefly about how much he loved the way Derek lisped his name when he had his fangs out and wondered what that would sound like if Derek were short of breath and sweating... “Stiles!” There it was again. Ugh. 

“Crap, what?!” He whispered angrily at the phone in his hand as if it was directly responsible for interrupting his fantasy. 

“Talk to me, stay calm, I’m coming for you now.” 

“What’s taking you so long? You were right outside!” 

“Stiles!” 

“Derek-” Stiles stopped talking immediately when he started paying attention to his environment. There was someone walking around in the surgery outside his door. “Crap.” He muttered to himself, hanging up on Derek in case he started speaking again. But whatever he did, his creeper would find him eventually. He was just delaying the inevitable. Crap! He’d been running with werewolves for two and a half years and he was going to die at the hands of pixies, cowering in a cupboard? No, he’d go out fighting, god damn it! Derek would kill him when he found out. _If you’re not already dead,_ a very nasty voice at the back of his head hissed. He ignored it and took a deep breath.

Stiles got to his feet as quietly as possible and reached over to grab his weapons of choice. He then wrenched open the door and started attacking, swinging the broom like a hammer, satisfied when he made contact and his victim made an _oomph_ -ing noise, which was soon cut off by the bottle of what claimed to be polycarboxylate that Stiles threw in his face. Headshot! 

He didn’t take any chances after that. Hopefully his victim/assailant would be shocked by his little assault but he didn’t wait to check, he simply turned and ran. Or, more correctly, he tried to run. He got two steps before he was pressed again the pale blue wall of the waiting room, a familiar warm weight holding him right where he was.

“That was rude.” Ugh, that lisp.

“Derek?” Stiles turned his head ever so slightly and saw Derek’s red Alpha eyes and pearly white fangs right next to his head. “Do you shift when you’re brushing your teeth?” Damn it. Once again, his filter deserted him when he needed it most. He saw the confusion in Derek’s eyes as they slowly faded back to that weird hazel/green colour. Seriously, what colour even is that? It’s sinful. “Never mind, I just thought- no, never mind.” 

Derek loosened his grip just enough that Stiles could spin round, still surrounded by an unholy amount of pure Derek – his smell and his warmth and his slightly terrifying, insanely intense glare. Stiles tried so hard not laugh, he really did, but Derek looked a bit like his face was melting because of the congealing polycarboxylate.

“Uh,” he said, coughing to cover his mini laugh, “you’ll want to get that off, ASAP.” 

“No, really? I quite like it where it is.” Derek’s sarcasm kind of made Stiles feel proud. He felt like he’d taught Derek an emotion.

“Haha. Funny. Seriously, though. It’s practically pre-mixed cement.” Stiles said and then looked on as Derek’s features turned from sarcastic, to confused, to panicky, to annoyed… And settled on annoyed, like he usually does where Stiles is concerned. “You have about 30 seconds before your face sets.” 

Derek didn’t say anything, merely grabbed Stiles by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the bathroom with him. 

~~~

As Derek scrubbed viciously at his face, looking in the mirror every now and then to see if he’d missed any, Stiles thought back and noticed a flaw in their brilliant plan.

“Derek, where are the pixies?” His voice rose by around six octaves as he spoke.

“Gone.” 

Stiles waited, he truly did, before saying anything more, but some things just can’t change and Stiles wasn’t a patient person.  
“Gone. Just gone? Of course they’re just gone, where else would they be?” He deadpanned, aiming for the same effect Derek gets. He gets close enough to appease himself. “Pray tell, almighty Alpha, where have they ‘gone’.”

“Not my problem right now.”

“Fantastic. Just fantastic.” He hit Derek’s arm and Derek just looked at him blankly. “You scared the crap out of me! All that _‘Stiles, run! Get out now! We’re all going to die!’_ stuff? You nearly gave me a panic attack! Were they here at all? Were you just messing with me?”

“They left when I arrived.” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Stiles flailed his hands a little bit and started pacing behind Derek, who was still washing out his hairline. 

“You hung up on me. I was trying to find you when you attacked me.” Derek met his gaze in the mirror managing to look annoyed but proud at the same time. Stiles floundered again. There was no way he was letting this go. 

“Is that...? No...” He placed a hand over his heart and pretended to wipe away a tear from his cheek. “Actual pride? From the Sourwolf? Aw, Derek!” For all the acting, Stiles was feeling strangely touched by the look that Derek still had on his face. Touched enough that he would launch himself recklessly into a hug with the Alpha, the Alpha with huge fangs and claws that Stiles had momentarily forgotten about. Derek shoved him into the wall again, one hand pressing again Stiles’ stomach and the other at his neck to keep him pinned where he wanted him. 

Stiles tried to ignore how obviously his heart rate had skyrocketed. He knew Derek could hear it too and, in that moment, something shifted between them. Derek’s hands turned softer against Stiles’ skin and there was a glint in Derek’s eyes that took his breath away, turned his brain to something resembling melted marshmallow. He lifted his right hand to Derek’s shoulder to keep his balance. With Derek’s hands being less I’m-pinning-you-against-a-wall and more I-want-to-touch-every-part-of-you, Stiles could only rely on his own body to keep him standing and he sure as hell didn’t trust his body. Not with the way a certain area below his waist was betraying him right now. 

Derek’s eyes followed Stiles’ movement with something resembling panic and he backed away quickly, looking anywhere but at the boy he’d just victimised, because that’s exactly what it was – he’d pinned the kid against the wall and felt his taut stomach muscles, stroked the smooth skin of his neck. Derek felt sick with himself.

“Go home, it’s late.” Derek muttered, striding purposefully out of the dentist surgery and ignoring the heavy breathing behind him. Stiles took a moment to recover then followed Derek to the car park with one thought at the forefront of his mind: _What the hell was that?_


	2. Hunters

Stiles was sweating profusely in the mid-August afternoon heat, and he wasn’t even really in on the ‘training session’. He, Allison, Lydia and Danny had been left on Derek’s porch while the actual wolves of the pack frolicked about the forest and killed small creatures or whatever else they did on the day of the full moon. Sometimes they would chase each other across the clearing in front of the humans but mostly Stiles and the others would only know their pack was safe from playful growls and flashes of yellow eyes in the undergrowth. It was enough for them, though, sitting drinking lemonade and chatting about whatever came to mind. Though he was a bit confused as to why Allison had brought her bow and quiver with her. 

“Stiles, do you know what they’re saying about the dentist surgery?” Lydia asked without looking up from her magazine. There was something about the Large Hadron Collider and an ATLAS Experiment on the front cover. None of them would ever draw attention to it from fear of losing limbs, but everyone was secretly glad Lydia trusted them more and more, to the point of not being embarrassed to read scientific magazines in front of them. She even tried to explain the formation of a black hole to Scott the other day before realising it was a total waste of time.

“Dad suspects a failed robbery, more because they can’t explain why someone would break in, walk around for a while, steal a broom and cover the waiting room in cement.” Allison and Danny laughed for a while and Lydia smiled a bit, just a slight curve of those red lips to show she was amused. “Obviously, they don’t know about the pixies.”

“As long as there’s no suspicion on us, they can think what they like.” Lydia said. She closed her magazine and stood up to stretch, the hem of her top riding up ever so slightly above her shorts. Stiles was treated to a flash of fair skin before she let her arms drop and picked up her glass to get a refill. Stiles hadn’t felt any proper feelings for Lydia for over a year, but he was still allowed to appreciate how clear and beautiful her skin was. Right? Right. “Anyone else want a drink?”

Danny handed her his glass with murmured thanks so Lydia went over to the electric cooler to get more lemonade. It was when Lydia was making her way back through the front door that they all heard the unmistakeable warning growl. It was so sudden and so loud and so _frightening_ that they all leapt up from their loungers, Lydia dropped the full glasses which smashed onto the porch and Allison, apparently out of sheer habit (which wasn’t worrying _at all_ (!)), grabbed her bow. 

Stiles was off the porch before any of them could stop him. He ran as fast as he could towards the growling noises in the forest, silently thanking Coach Finstock for all those Suicide Sprints. Amongst the growling, which had reached almost deafening levels, Stiles could hear shouting and screaming... Humans. Almost definitely hunters. He pushed himself harder and harder, willing himself towards the source of the noise. He could hear footsteps behind him too and when he looked, Allison and Danny were right behind him, matching him pace for pace, and Lydia was trotting after them in her stupid, strappy high heels.

When they reached the clearing that was holding the fight, Stiles gasped. There was a lot of blood staining the ground already. He didn’t know what to hope – if it was the hunters’ blood, they could be seriously injured but they might stop the fight and go home. If it was the wolves that were hurt, they would heal, but Stiles didn’t want a single member of his pack to be hurt. He didn’t know what to think. 

Allison was already shooting arrows at the hunters, aiming for legs and arms because she, like Stiles, didn’t want to actually hurt them; she only wanted them to back off from her pack. She never missed. 

Danny was running over to help Isaac, who was pinned to the ground under a burly male hunter. He jumped on the hunter’s back and dragged him off. The two of them rolled away and Isaac sprang after them, determined to protect his friend.

Stiles, however, was at a loss. He wasn’t badass like Allison, he wasn’t strong and sure of his skills like Danny and he definitely wasn’t a wolf. He was a pathetic human – the weakest link of the pack. Even _Lydia_ was smarter than him, she would think of something to do, but she was left behind somewhere in the forest in impractical shoes. _At least she’s safe._ Stiles thought as he stood at the boundary of the clearing and prayed for something helpful to do. 

He watched carefully, making sure that each of his pack members were ok and still up and fighting. If any of them went down, he would run and stand between them and whatever flew at them because that’s all he was good for – a shield. And a scrawny one at that.  
Erica and Boyd were ok, fighting together at the other side of the clearing trying to defend each other more than themselves. The overall outcome was ok though and they were holding off the three hunters going for them.

Danny had pulled out some cable ties and was securing his hunter’s wrists behind his back.

Isaac had left Danny once he was safe and was now chasing a younger huntress across the clearing. It looked almost flirtatious the way he was nipping at her coat, but he was definitely not playing. That much was obvious from the way his claws were catching her clothes.  
She was screaming for help, but the entire fight seemed to have tipped in the wolves’ favour.

Scott and Jackson were close to each other, but fighting their own battles one-on-one. Stiles winced as he saw Scott’s arm slashed, but Scott paid it no attention. Jackson was in a similar situation, blood running down his arms and his shirt in tatters, but still holding his own. 

Finally, his eyes fell on Derek. He had shifted to his Alpha form and was doing incredibly well against the hunters that were ganging up on him. There were two bodies lying on the floor near Derek, but Stiles wasn’t worried about them because he could see their chests rising and falling steadily. Out cold, then, not dead. 

Yes, Derek was doing outstandingly well, right up until one of the hunters decided things weren’t getting done quickly enough. Stiles saw what was happening and cried out a warning.

Three shots echoed around the space... then complete silence. Every pair of eyes in the clearing turned to look at Derek as he dropped to the floor with nothing more than a pitiful whine. Stiles had no idea what he was doing until he was 10 feet away from the shooter. He launched himself at the bastard who had shot Derek and rugby tackled him to the ground, yanking his gun away from him. He could hear the betas howling and converging around Derek to protect him. Protect the Alpha. Apparently that was an instinct that the wolves had. 

Meanwhile, Stiles was punching the shooter, a man in his 40s with short, dark hair and a permanent sneer on his face.

“You the Alpha’s bitch? The omega?” He leered before Stiles landed one last punch. Then he was being dragged off and thrown down in front of Jackson, but he wasn’t in the dirt for long. Jackson was pulling him to his feet and pushing him inside the circle of betas, closer to Derek. 

Stiles threaded his hands into the fur on Derek’s cheeks and looked into his red eyes. He could see the pain and fear, but also the annoyance and anger. The pack always said that Derek was emotionally constipated, that he wasn’t good at telling people how he was feeling, but Derek had managed to communicate his exact feelings in a single look. Maybe it was just because Stiles was empathetic.

“This was a warning,” a hunter behind him said calmly. Stiles looked around briefly and was surprised that the hunter who had shot Derek and that Stiles had subsequently attacked was actually in charge of their little circus. “We will kill you all if you cause trouble.”  
Stiles snorted loudly, but didn’t say anything. The leader had obviously heard him, and turned to speak directly to him. 

“Mind how you treat people who can kill you.” Then he turned his gaze to Derek. “And if you must keep omegas, at least teach them proper manners.” 

Derek growled and lifted his head, only to drop back into Stiles’ hands with a whimper. Stiles felt a burst of rage, but kept his hands gentle as they rubbed slow circles in Derek’s fur. This man had hurt Derek. He would pay. But right now, Derek needed him.

“Stiles isn’t omega,” Scott said forcefully. “He’s pack. He’s human. You can’t hurt him, it’s in the code.” 

The hunters laughed and muttered between themselves, obviously mocking them.

“We follow no code.” 

Stiles felt rather than heard Derek’s growl because his hearing had gone a little funny and his brain was in turmoil. If this group of hunters didn’t follow the code then Stiles, as a pack member, was fair game and the hunters would do anything they could to get to him. They would use any method they could to get to the pack, including hurting their families. Stiles zoned out of the conversation, thinking of 101 ways they could torture his father. He was only brought back when Derek gently nuzzled Stiles’ elbow with his wet nose, giving him a knowing look. The sensation was equal parts reassuring, unpleasant and really fucking incredible. 

“By the way, you’ll need to choose a new Alpha.” The leader of the hunters said, then gestured his crew to follow him away. Someone cut the cable ties Danny had used and they went away laughing and joking and gloating, not caring that they just annoyed a pack of stubborn teenagers. Everyone was completely still until the hunters were out of hearing range. Stiles rested his head against Derek’s side while he waiting, listening to the fast heartbeat and laboured breathing. When he could no longer hear the hunters, he jerked to his feet and started talking a mile a minute. 

“We need to get Derek back to the house, right now. We need to know what he was shot with before we can do anything about it, but my guess is it isn’t wolfsbane because there’s no weird blue light.” Derek gave a soft grumble that sounded like confirmation, so Stiles went on. “It could be silver. I read about it when Scott was turned, silver stings and burns wolves. That’s my guess. If there’s enough silver in those bullets it could probably kill him.” He tried to hide how his voice faltered as he looked around at the pack, all of whom were listening intently to what he was saying. Stiles wasn’t used to people listening to him but they all knew how serious the situation was. Stiles had taken the lead and everyone listened. If anyone knew this shit, it was Stiles – he’d learnt from Derek and Deaton. “Who’ll take Derek? He can’t walk like this.” 

“Me.” Scott said straight away, stepping forwards. Scott and Derek might not have had the best relationship, but they respected each other and Scott knew what had to be done. Derek was the Alpha and he needed help.

“And me.” Jackson said.

Boyd didn’t say anything at all, merely joined them where they were standing around Derek and nodded. 

“Ok, good. Be careful with him.” He said harshly, following it with, “And don’t argue with each other. This shit needs to get done quickly.” Stiles watched while the three boys gently lifted Derek between them. He tried not to think of Derek as dead weight, but he didn’t like the way the wolf was hanging between them and the pitiful whines he kept making were breaking his heart. “Erica,” Stiles said, smiling when Erica stepped forwards without a single snarky comment or a sneer. She actually looked shaken up pretty bad. “You need to find Lydia.” She nodded and took off into the woods straight away. That only left Isaac, Danny and Allison. “Isaac, get Deaton on the phone and tell him what’s happened, ask if he can come and help. We need to get back to the house.” 

~~~

Stiles hardly wanted to look as he crossed the threshold into the house, fearing what he might see, but Scott came over to him straight away and explained what Stiles could’ve easily seen if Scott would just _move_. 

“He’s getting worse. He managed to shift back, but it was really bad. Three shots to the torso. We, uh...” Scott cleared his throat and his cheeks flushed pink. “We covered him with a sheet.” Stiles couldn’t help the mini laugh that escaped him but he will be forever grateful to Scott for ignoring the hysterical edge to it. Could this situation be any worse? 

“St-Stiles...” Derek rasped from where he was lying on the couch. Stiles jolted over and knelt next to the cushions. 

“What do you need? Water? Are you cold?” Stiles pressed his hand to Derek’s forehead without really thinking, but Derek seemed to relax at his touch. At that moment, Isaac came into the room with a panicked expression, clasping his phone tightly in his hand. Stiles turned to look at him.

“Deaton can’t be here until tonight. He said he can’t leave until later. What do we do?” He looked pleadingly around the room and waited for someone to say something. Stiles understood why Isaac was feeling this worse than the rest of them. Isaac had been living with Derek since his father died and the two had become close, close beyond being pack. Stiles had even wondered if there was anything more between them until Isaac assured him he wasn’t interested in Derek like that and he could smell the jealousy pouring off of Stiles, which, of course, Stiles denied entirely. 

“Everyone... out.” Derek muttered, making hardly any sound at all. The wolves left straight away, but Derek weakly circled Stiles’ wrist as he tried to go too. “Not you.” Stiles knelt again and rested his forehead on Derek’s shoulder. Derek took comfort in the fact that one of the strongest members of his pack was right there next to him and he knew it calmed Stiles too. Stiles needed to be calm for this. “Stiles?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I need you to dig the bullets out.” 

~~~

It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t fought this decision for all he was worth. He had had a quick, one-sided discussion with Derek as to why Stiles should never be allowed to mess around in someone’s body with a pair of tweezers. He had explained that he didn’t know if he could steady his hands for that long. He had told Derek that it was a flat out no. Derek wasn’t listening to any of his arguments, though. He just watched Stiles talking and talking about why he shouldn’t be allowed to do it as Derek got paler and paler, sweat starting to form droplets on his skin.

Eventually, it had taken Scott coming in with a pair of forceps for Stiles to realise that actually yes, he was a better choice for this than Scott. Even though Scott was a vet-in-training, he didn’t exactly like Derek. So he had taken the forceps and approached Derek. 

“Are you sure about this?” Stiles asked for the last time. After this, he was going to do it.

“Yes.” Derek sounded frail, even to Stiles’ human ears. Erica had long since come back with Lydia, who looked only a little worse for wear with a few bits of leaf in her hair and limping in her shoes, and the entire pack had come in to say good luck to Stiles and Derek and it felt strangely like they were saying goodbye, which hardly boosted Stiles’ confidence with the matter. They didn’t trust him not to mess this up so how could he trust himself? 

He knelt over Derek and mentally prepared himself. He’d taken a lot of Adderall in an attempt to force himself to focus. It worked to a certain extent and it had stilled his hands somewhat but he was still scared of hurting Derek.

“Are you absolutely sure you’re sure?” He asked, screwing his promise not to ask again. He wanted to be sure that everyone was sure. He was beyond double and triple checking; he must’ve asked dozens of times now, but he had to be sure. 

“Stiles. Now...” 

“Ok. Here we go.” He said. Then he lowered the forceps into the first bullet wound. Stiles had purposefully chosen to start with the bullets closest to his stomach out of reluctance to fiddle around in Derek’s chest. Derek groaned slightly as Stiles hit the bullet. “Oh crap, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry Derek, sorry...” He carried on mutter apologies until he had a decent grip on the bullet, then he started to pull it out...

Derek screamed.

In hindsight, Stiles had to admit that it was a very manly scream considering he was having a huge silver bullet pulled out of him by a less-than-qualified surgeon. 

“Jesus!” Stiles moaned as the bullet slid out with a final squelch. The gaping hole started healing immediately, but the mental scars  
would never leave Stiles. He was doomed to years of nightmares. “I can’t do it, Derek. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Stiles, listen-”

“No! I _hurt you_ Derek!” Stiles said despairingly, “I can’t do it again because I’m hurting you and that’s seriously not okay.”

“It didn’t hurt.” Derek lifted up his hand weakly and wiped at Stiles’ cheek. He hadn’t even realised he was crying until the tears were gone. He felt so pathetic. “You have to keep going. Please.” 

So he did.

~~~

Deaton arrived at the Hale house around 7 o clock that evening to find Derek sat up on the sooty sofa fully clothed with a very sleepy Stiles pressed against him, cheek on his shoulder and eyes drooping shut. The vet watched the scene carefully for a few minutes while Scott explained what happened, how Stiles had cried while taking the bullets out, how he had almost overdosed on Adderall to stop his hands shaking, how he cared enough to stay with Derek afterwards and how finally, Stiles had collapsed where he was now. 

Everyone understood that Derek would have to be checked by Deaton to make sure. That’s what prompted Isaac to crowd onto the sofa and take Derek’s place so Stiles wouldn’t be too disturbed. Despite the fact that no one had believed that Stiles could do it, they all practically worshipped him now. He and Derek were the centre of attention all afternoon with people fawning over them and fetching them drinks and cuddling up to them. Stiles had felt appreciated – necessary to the pack. And he loved it. Even Boyd had sat with him  
for a while.

When Derek was given the ok from Deaton, he reclaimed his place on the sofa, usurping Isaac. Stiles, who was now fast asleep, snaked his arms around Derek’s waist and hugged him close. 

~~~

Stiles woke up again in the early hours of the morning, still on the sofa and pressed against a sleeping Derek. He didn’t see Derek sleeping much so he took the opportunity to study him, undisturbed and unwatched. 

Everything about Derek seemed perfect. The way his jaw was slacker than it was during waking hours as though all the tension had drained out of him as he was whisked away to his own dream world. Derek’s dream world was probably full of hot blonde supermodels and fast cars; why would he be tense there?

His cheekbones looked like they were hewn from diamond. Stiles had always known that, but he never really dwelled on it before. Now, though, he inspected every inch. They truly were spectacular. Thoughts about licking chocolate sauce off them came unbidden in Stiles’ mind before he could stop them and he spent a moment trying to quash all sexy thoughts. 

Then there was his mouth. Christ, what Stiles would do that mouth... His lips were no longer pressed into a thin line, they were parted and slightly pouty and he looked so damn kissable... Stiles lifted his hand and traced Derek’s lips carefully, then moved further down so the stubble on his jaw scratched against Stiles’ fingertips.

He wanted to feel it against his tongue. It was so tempting.

And there they were, all alone in the old house with no one around. No one would see, he would sneak one tiny kiss to assuage his curiosity then never think of it again. He would do it now. Who would know?

“Stiles, go to sleep.” Derek murmured softly. 

He stopped breathing and froze exactly where he was, not daring to even blink.

“Stiles, go back to sleep.” Derek said after a minute, much more firmly this time. 

Stiles dropped back against the cushions, trying to maintain some kind of distance between them. He didn’t go back to sleep though, he sat there all night until it was a decent hour to go home, then he got in his Jeep and drove back down Derek’s drive. If he looked back, well, no one would ever know...


	3. Poorly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge abuse of italics in this chapter... Sorry, not sorry ;D

Stiles really should've seen it coming, what with the pressure of finals a month or so previously, the pixies, who no one was entirely convinced were gone for sure, then bringing Derek back from almost-death after those hunters attacked. Not to mention the stress of everyday pack life – things like making sure Boyd and Erica made it to their room before stripping off had been funny to start with but were now becoming exhaustingly common.

Everything was getting seriously on top of Stiles and he hadn't been getting enough sleep or eating enough vitamins to counteract his ridiculously hectic life. It was hardly his fault but now he had to deal with the consequences: A horrible cold, complete with migraine, sore throat, runny nose and hot flushes, all in the middle of August when he should be out spending time with the pack rather than huddling in a nest of blankets.

He'd been ill for days and he was getting pretty tired of dragging his diseased body out of bed in the morning only to relocate to the sofa for 12 hours of Supernatural, then moving back to bed, watching more TV and falling asleep again.

The only highlights were the visits from his pack members, but even then the other humans weren't allowed into the house in case the illness spread. Derek's orders. That limited his visitors to Scott, who always rushed off to meet Allison after only a few minutes; Erica, whose bedside manner needed a lot of work, or she at least needed to lose the habit of purposefully waking Stiles up with horrifically loud One Direction music every morning; Jackson, who hadn't actually visited yet; Boyd, who Stiles loved because he was quiet, but had to look after his four younger siblings so wasn't around much; and Isaac, who was Stiles' favourite by a long shot because the boy could cuddle for hours and that was exactly what Stiles needed to combat his blues.

The humans managed to show how much they missed him, though. Lydia had sent him a lovely bouquet of white anemones that were sitting in front of the fireplace surrounded by a dozen or so get-well-soon cards from each member of the pack, Mrs McCall, the Argents (who knew they cared, right?) and even one from Deaton. It was nice to know that it wasn't only the pack that cared for him now. It gave him all sorts of warm feelings.

And then there was Derek, who had not left the Stilinski house since Stiles first complained of a headache. It confused Stiles because Derek stayed over unless there was a properly scheduled movie night/sleepover, but that had changed in the last few days. The first night he had been ill, Stiles had woken at about dawn to find himself cocooned in an awful lot of... Derek. He was tucked under Derek’s chin with his cheek pressed soundly against his warm chest. Both of his hands had wandered so that they were gently resting on those fantastic, naked abs and Derek’s arms were wrapped around Stiles’ waist, tightening even further when he tried to pull away. 

He felt the exact moment when Derek started to wake up because it started with a low grumble in his chest, right under Stiles’ cheekbone. Stiles pretended to be asleep to save them both the embarrassment, but Derek didn't wolf out or tense up or start yelling when he saw how wrapped up in each other they were. On the contrary he gave Stiles a gentle squeeze and went to shower.

What fresh hell?

Stiles couldn't figure it out, so he did what any self respecting stubborn person would do: he ignored it and went to get a Pop-Tart.

~~~

The day after his unconscious snuggle-fest with Derek had been awkward to start with, especially when he, Derek and Isaac were talking about the pros and cons of Spike over their toast. Derek, apparently, was more into Angel, but didn't take too kindly to being compared to him looks-wise when wolfed out. Isaac idolised Angel, too, but Stiles had always preferred Spike.

"There's something about the whole bad-guy thing that just gets me." Stiles explained when the others looked at him like he was a lunatic. He had spent years building up a case for Spike for moments just like this. "Plus, I mean, those cheekbones. And the leather, oh my _God_ the leather! Ugh. I would." Isaac had shrugged indifferently and gone back to his cereal but Derek stared.

"But you're straight." Derek blurted out, the tiniest hint of pink tinting his cheeks. Stiles took on the look of a very startled deer in some very bright headlights.

"What?" Isaac said after swallowing a mouthful of Cocoa Krispies. "No he's not. He's so gay he's practically Dumbledore." Because apparently Isaac was the most perceptive person on the planet all of a sudden. 

Stiles felt his eyes get impossibly wider and he was pretty sure he was dying. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Or an aneurysm? Or maybe his brain had just melted; that would explain why the only thought it could supply was: _Isaac just outed me to the hot Alpha._ The others were staring at him, waiting for his input, but he stared right back. What did they want him to say?

"He's obviously gay," Isaac started again, "Danny picked up on it straight away."

"But what about Lydia? He liked her for years. Then there was... Heather..." Derek trailed off, realising how awkward this whole conversation was. If it weren't bad enough that they were discussing Stiles' sexuality, they then brought up the dead girl he should've lost his virginity to. Derek was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who wanted to curl up under a rock, judging by Stiles' facial expression.

"He's definitely gay, remember when-"

"Okaaaay, stop right there," Stiles finally found his voice when he realised that Isaac was about to recite _Stiles’ Top 50 Gay Moments_. It was probably time to set a few things straight. Or not straight. Haha. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and thought hard about how he could phrase this. "There's actually a fantastic middle ground... that I tend to identify with..."

"You're bi?" Derek frowned. Stiles prickled at that.

"If you don’t like it, you don’t have to be here, _dude_." Stiles snarled with a scowl to match Derek's. He knew his reaction was somewhat unreasonable, but if Derek thought he could be a douche about this, then he was not responsible for any harm that might come to those fine chest muscles.

"What?" Derek look thoroughly shocked, like an alien had just burst out of Stiles' stomach. "I'm not homophobic, I just didn't realise..." He said, before muttering, “It would be kind of hypocritical.” 

"Oh." Because what else was there to say?

"Anyway," Isaac butted in. That's another thing that Stiles loved about Isaac – he did everything in his power to avoid conflict, particularly within the pack. Unless it was Jackson, in which case he cut his losses and didn't get involved. Nothing, not even Isaac's puppy dog eyes, can stop Jackson when he's pissed off. "What are we doing today?"

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Stiles asked through a yawn and an obscenely large bite of toast. Isaac looked a bit sheepish so Stiles took that as a yes. Isaac muttered something about calling in sick so he could stay and Stiles' heart melted just a little bit. He wasn't about complain, not when the kid gave the best hugs known to wolf-kind and he was very free with said hugs. Besides, Stiles knew all about not wanting to work. At least Isaac had gotten as far as getting a job.

~~~

When it came to Stiles' fourth day of illness, though, he insisting that Isaac go back to work, no matter how much he was hugged and nuzzled. He dragged himself out of bed when Isaac arrived at around 8 AM and started making him a packed lunch, ignoring the protests that came from his handsome, semi-permanent bed mate, his favourite cuddle-monster and his father, who should really be at the station by now.

"Dad, shouldn't you be at work by now, too?" Stiles asked over the noise of the kitchen. "Like, nearly an hour ago?"

"I wanted to make sure you were ok, kiddo."

"I'm fine dad. I'm only going to be sat around today; you don't have to worry about me." Stiles put Isaac's sandwiches, apple, crisps, chocolate bar and raisins in a paper bag and handed it over. He didn't miss the look of pride that his father gave him. "Derek, drive Isaac to work." Stiles said over his shoulder, but Derek crossed his arms and prepared for the coming argument. One that he would most likely lose because Stiles was just that stubborn. The Big Bad Wolf had lasted through many things, but Determined Stiles _always_ got his way.

"Hold on," the Sherriff said, standing up between them and taking has plate over to the dishwasher. "I'll take him. The bakers isn't far from the station."

"At least _you_ act like a grown up, dad." Stiles said, poking Derek’s bicep as he walked past.

"Well, I'd hate to be called to my own house to deal with a domestic." He replied quickly, leaving no room for doubt as to where Stiles got his sharp wit.

Five minutes later and Isaac was on his way to work in the police cruiser and Stiles was once again left with Derek and Supernatural. Derek walked through to the living room and sat at one end of the sofa, legs stretched out on the cushions next to him, managing to take up all the space. Somehow that didn't seem fair, since he wasn’t dripping snot everywhere and had his own apartment that he could lounge around in if he wanted to. Stiles followed him through and slumped on top of him, sprawling over his legs. Neither of them were entirely comfortable with this arrangement, but Stiles refused to move until Derek said something. He waited and waited, pretending to pay attention to the episode of Supernatural, but really watching Derek getting riled up in his peripheral vision.

Derek knew what was going on and it pissed him off. Stiles was bored – that's what this was about. Stiles could never enjoy sitting inside for days on end watching TV, however much he loved Jared Padalecki (yes, he probably should’ve seen the Stiles-is-gay thing coming). If he wasn't sick, he would've been out of the door two days ago shouting about how he was bored and annoyed and where are the goddamn pixies. Except he couldn't, so he was taking it out on Derek. But two can play at that game.

~~~

Derek was going to crack soon. Stiles could tell as he felt his new favourite cushion fidgeting underneath him. This was exactly what he'd been waiting for – piss off Derek Hale and something interesting would happen, even if it was just getting thrown on the floor. But Derek didn't dump Stiles on the carpet.

He grabbed Stiles around the waist and lifted him easily, much to Stiles' horror. As if he needed anymore reason to feel insecure about his scrawniness. Then, before he could start flailing and objecting, he found himself nestled against Derek's chest, sat between his legs, tucked right up close to him. He could feel Derek's heart thumping against his back; feel each breath that he took; each twitch of muscle as he relaxed in this new position.

Stiles didn't relax. Stiles sat as upright as Derek's arms around his waist would let him.

"Calm down." Derek said, his face still turned towards the TV looking completely blank. Derek was happy with how his idea had turned out. It was making Stiles uncomfortable and it was funny, simple as. Derek was also happy because having Stiles held against him like that felt... good... And it finally gave him the opportunity to figure out what made Stiles smell so delicious and safe.

Stiles tried. He really, _really_ tried to calm down, but having his ass so close to Derek's crotch was distracting him a lot. He wasn't even sure what episode of Supernatural they were on anymore, because he spent a long time staging a mental freak out as to why they were snuggling while he was awake. They'd never done this. Stiles went to bed alone and woke up alone in the morning. The only indication that Derek was ever there was the faint smell of him on the sheets and that first night when Stiles woke up. Neither of them ever mentioned it. That's just how it was. But what the hell was going on now?

Stiles did start to relax after a while though, because staying tense for more than 5 minutes hurt and he managed to get a hold on his raging hormones and convince his body to play softball, if you know what I mean. Derek let his chin rest on Stiles' shoulder somewhere during the next episode and Stiles leant back further and further. They were halfway through Season Four when he realised that he was actually counting Derek's heartbeats and that was a bit creepy, so he made an excuse and moved.

"I'm gonna get some toast," he announced, trying to stumble up off the sofa, losing all dignity in the process. So he ended up on the floor anyway, even without Derek putting him there.

Derek's lips quirked up at the corner as he dragged Stiles back onto the couch, plonking him down on the cushions and standing up himself instead.

"I'll get it."

"Oh. Ok. Thanks." Stiles settled down again, tucking his feet under a cushion and pulling a blanket over himself. Now that he was away from an extremely hot (in all senses of the word) werewolf, he was freezing cold.

Derek came back soon after and dropped back onto the sofa next to Stiles, leaning into him just enough for Stiles to feel awkward.

"I thought you were making toast?" Stiles asked after a minute, realising that he wasn't devouring any buttery goodness.

"It's in the toaster."

"Oh," Stiles said. He cleared his throat. It shouldn't be this hard to show his gratitude, but Derek is... Derek. Derek is Derek and that makes it hard. "Uh... Thanks?"

"Was that a question?" Derek asked with a smirk. Stiles reached out and flicked him on the nose, knowing how much the action would annoy him and how much pure pleasure he would get from that. Derek slowly turned to look at him, pouting and scowling and... _Oh my God... That look._ Derek looked all intense and hot and angry and Stiles muscles were tense again, anticipating what was about to happen. _That mouth... Holy..._ He heard his heart picking up its pace, beating doubly fast as normal and Derek definitely heard it, too, and he can probably smell the effect he's having. Thing is... Stiles didn’t care. He kept staring at those lips... Imagining them all over him. Dragging along his throat and across his shoulders and down his spine... He watched as Derek's pupils dilated, leaving only a tiny rim of green. _Oh my God._ They both wanted this. Why shouldn’t he take it? He started to lean forward but Derek startled, his head flicking to look towards the kitchen, eyes wide and afraid. Stiles backed off, the rejection stinging him.

But then he smelt it too.

Smoke.

"Crap." Stiles muttered, leaping up and running through to the kitchen. "Crap!" He shouted, taking in the flames coming out of the toaster. And finally he realised why Derek was so afraid... Fire. Derek smells fire and only thinks of one thing. _"Crap!"_ He said one last time, just for good measure, before grabbing the fire extinguisher from under the sink and pointing it towards the toaster. Stiles felt like a badass super hero saving the day and it would actually be quite funny if he were with anyone else... Anyone at all, just not Derek...

Once Stiles got the fire out, he searched for Derek through the white power still swirling in the room. He was stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the hall, fists clenched at his sides and looking very much like he wanted to run away from the entire thing.  
Stiles dropped the extinguisher right where he was and strode over to his Alpha, his friend, grabbing his arm gently and pulling him out the patio door into the back yard. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack so Stiles wrapped his arms around the older man's neck and pulled him into a hug. He wasn't sure if hugging was a proper medical panic-prevention method, but Derek looked so lost and afraid and guilty that he just couldn't help himself. He wanted to protect Derek from the bad memories but he felt so powerless.

Derek clung to him like he was the only thing anchoring him in the present, rather than the hazy, smoky past. He had one hand on Stiles' hip, digging his fingers into the flesh there and the other arm around his skinny waist, holding their bodies together and not letting go. He needed Stiles, he _always_ needed Stiles, because Stiles could understand; he was wise beyond his years.

They stood there until Stiles' stomach started rumbling again.

"Sorry." Stiles mumbled, wincing when Derek pulled away and tried to subtly wipe his eyes.

"It's ok," Derek said thickly, "It's lunch time; I could go and get takeout?"

"Don't go." Stiles whispered before really thinking. He didn't want Derek going anywhere on his own; he would only brood and think about the fire and Kate and how it was _'his fault'._ He didn't want to let Derek out of his sight because who knew what desperate measures a depressed werewolf would resort to? "I mean, we can get it delivered, right? Unless you really want to go, in which case I’m not going to stop you-"

"Sure. We can get it delivered." Derek cut him off with a small smile before the Stiles Stilinski patented blabbering could start. He still sounded a bit teary, his voice weaker than it would usually be, but he'd recovered well enough after his breakdown. He hated that he hadn't been able to hide it this time, but the smoke was too strong and too familiar and he missed his family _so much._ "We're not getting Indian, though, not after last time." He said in an attempt to lighten things up. Stiles gave a wicked chuckle.

"It's not my fault you can't handle your spices.”


	4. Seriously?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG TO POST.  
> When I originally posted this chapter to FF.net I had huge issues with it so I decided I'd completely rewrite it before posting it here. So after a couple of weeks of writers block and other obstacles, I rewrote it! ...And then decided I preferred the original version anyway. Then switched back to the new version... And I've been going back and forward for the last half hour.  
> Anyway, this is the new version. If you want to, you can find the original version on FF.net. I have the same username etc. 
> 
> ...Sorry :(

Stiles’ phone was ringing. He knew it was ringing because the 8-bit Pokémon Centre music was playing right down his ear and making it hard to sleep. He normally loved hearing the music that reminded him of a well-spent childhood, but right now he didn’t want to hear another bar of it. He groped at his dresser clumsily and squinted at the bright light of his phone screen before accepting the call.

“Duhrek, why t’ _hell_ are you callin’ me? Still dark outside!” He slurred, holding the phone loosely near his ear. He checked the clock. Yep, 5:30AM. “Better hope this‘s urgent or-”

“Stiles, shut up, right now.” Something in Derek’s voice made Stiles blink himself awake and take notice, made him need to listen and obey. He wondered vaguely if it was the Alpha-vibes he was picking up on or if Derek just sounded weird this morning. “We have a problem.” Derek’s usual eloquence did nothing to sooth Stiles, only added fuel to an already extremely annoyed fire.

“When do we not? Dude, come one, it’s _Saturday!_ Is nothing sacred anymore? Holy hell, I’m going back to sleep.” Stiles could practically hear Derek scowling at him. “Sorry. Go on.” 

“I... You need... Come to the preserve. Now.” Maybe it was a mix of ‘sounding weird’ _and_ Alpha-vibes. Stiles felt like he had to obey though. Even though he wasn’t a wolf, he still had to listen to his Alpha – that was just part of being in a pack; he knew that when he submitted to Derek. It was like an orchestra in that sense; all the musicians (betas) had to listen to the conductor (the alpha) or everything would fall apart. Stiles couldn’t help but imagine Derek in a tailcoat tux and bowtie. _Damn, that’s kind of hot..._

“Just the preserve in general? Or a specific part?” He murmured, shaking away the thoughts of submitting to Derek in an entirely different way and wondering if Derek could sense morning forestry issues over the phone.

“I’ll send you the co-ordinates. Be quick.” And Derek hung up. Stiles frowned at the screen until it vibrated again, making him jump when it buzzed in his hand. He opened the message and copied the string of numbers into his map-app, trying hard not to dwell on the three words that Derek had added: 

_‘Watch your back’_

~~~

The fact that Derek thought it was dangerous enough to warn him made Stiles twitchy and nervous. He dressed in complete silence, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt all the while listening intently for anything out of the ordinary. He then spent a few tense seconds psyching himself up to opening his bedroom door because a small part of his brain had convinced the rest that there was a murderer on the landing and he was about to be knifed to death. There wasn’t, though (of course there wasn’t, this wasn’t a horror film) so he continued through his house.

Creeping down the stairs was a common occurrence for Stiles – he was upstairs, food was downstairs – but trying to do so silently so as not to alert the imaginary serial killers in his house was another thing entirely. He’s pretty sure he looked like an extra from Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks by the end of it.

Pulling on his sneakers quietly was an issue, too. Did they have to put so many damn laces on the things? Loosening them enough to get his feet in was the first problem. It was usually a process that included harsh swearing and cursing and perhaps throwing them on the floor in a fit of annoyance, so Stiles practically had to superglue his mouth shut to stop from waking his dad.   
The man needed his sleep; he had been working serious overtime recently because of the cases he was working so when he did manage to crash, it was best not to disturb him.

Once his shoes were fully laced onto his feet, he looked cautiously at the front door. The door wouldn’t close without a proper slam. It never had, according to his dad (something to do with the previous owners liking to ‘wrestle’ against it), but tonight he needed to be quiet and stealthy so the front door was definitely out of the question. The back door was, too, but only because the key was at the bottom of a draw of other keys that were all really loud. He rolled his eyes and opened the sash window in the lounge.

~~~

Stiles’ exit through the window was less than graceful. He’d hoped to slither out and shut it quietly behind him like the master thief he obviously was but in reality, he had more tumbled out, fallen further than he anticipated then fumbled loudly as he lowered the glass back down. Not the smoothest operation he’d ever conducted. 

The engine of his Jeep starting had just been painful. It choked out a huge roar as he turned the key reversed out of the drive. How was this his life? Before Scott had been turned, sure, he’d snuck out more than once but it had been at a more reasonable time than this. Suddenly he was sneaking out at dawn to meet a grumpy werewolf (who he may or may not secretly lust after) in the middle of the woods with very little explanation and a warning that made his stomach drop.

_Watch your back._

Urgh. Either that was seriously melodramatic or... No. It was just melodramatic. Not to mention scare-mongering.

He followed his GPS’s instructions until they were telling him to drive off the dirt track of the preserve, when he got out and started walking hastily towards where Derek had told him to go. It was about 5 minutes of fast walking before Stiles saw his Alpha up ahead. He sighed with relief. Derek wouldn’t let anything hurt him, no matter how much he resented him – he was still pack, after all. Weak pack, yes, but pack nonetheless.

“What’s this, some kind of tryst?” Stiles said as he approached, still 50 feet away but Derek would hear him. “Don’t people only meet in the woods to-” He was closer now, close enough to see what was curled at Derek’s feet and what it meant. “Holy God, is that...? Oh – dude, what have you – seriously, Derek?”

There was a pretty blonde girl wearing a white dress lying between him and Derek. He could see her face (And yes, Stiles felt awful for the rush of relief when he realised he didn’t recognise her), plastered in makeup but looking fairly peaceful. The look of serenity was completely at odds with the bite marks on her breasts and arms and the gaping hole in her neck. Stiles didn’t have to check her pulse to know that she was dead. Hell, he didn’t have to be within 10 feet of her to know that she was never getting up again. 

“So... you finally did it, huh?” Stiles said, his voice low in volume and pitch. He couldn’t look at Derek, he didn’t want to see the madness in the green eyes that he loved so much. Sure, he had fantasised about the biting kinks that must come with being a werewolf but this... This was something else entirely. “You finally ripped someone’s throat out-” 

“What?” 

“With your teeth, I assume-” 

“Stiles.” 

“Judging by the bite marks, at least.” 

“Stiles!” Derek shouted and the Alpha-vibes from earlier were back in earnest. “Look at me!” Stiles couldn’t help it. Whether Derek was a murderer or a rapist or a serial killer, he was still Stiles’ Alpha and that position made it very hard for Stiles to refuse him anything. So he looked up. Fuck. Derek looked _angry_. Like, seriously, pissed as hell. “You think _I_ killed her?” He gestured at the girl between them, but Stiles couldn’t look again. There was an awful lot of blood soaked into that dirt. 

“Derek...” Stiles said, making placating gestures with his shaking hands.

“Listen to me, Stiles!” Derek commanded, walking around the body towards him until he was inches away. Stiles flinched. “I didn’t kill this girl.” They stared at each other for a long time, Derek looking determined and stubborn, Stiles feeling scared out of his mind and trying not to move an inch. Derek seemed to be very much in his animal state of mind and any sudden movements might make him the next target. 

After a minute or so, Derek sighed, closed his eyes and backed away a few steps. When he opened them again they were back to their usual relatively sane hazel-green.

“You really think so little of me?” He asked, sounding defeated. When he continued, he sounded beaten and sad. It made Stiles’ heart melt just a little bit. “I didn’t kill her. _Please,_ trust me, Stiles.”

“Start from the beginning, tell me what happened?” Stiles said calmly.

“I found her, already dead, and called you.” Derek looked up at him with honest, pleading eyes. Stiles only saw the truth there, no subterfuge, no lies, just sincerity and desperation. He closed the gap between them and placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder, the small gesture of comfort all that Stiles could manage. 

“Alright,” he said, nodding his head emphatically and keeping eye contact. Stiles would do literally anything to stop Derek looking so sad. “Why did you-?”

He was cut off by a peel high pitched, maniacal laughter from the forest on his left.

Derek had his claws out straight away, pushing Stiles behind him and crouching, preparing to attack. A second laugh came from the opposite direction and they whirled around to look. Soon, the entire forest was full of insane laughter from unseen mouths.

Stiles backed into Derek, taking comfort in the fact that Derek was a natural predator and whether he had killed the girl in the white dress or not, he was probably Stiles’ best chance of survival.

A twig snapped somewhere off to the right and they both turned to it, just in time to see a figure appear seemingly out of nowhere, followed by hoards of them until Stiles and Derek were completely surrounded. 

Stiles had seen pictures of them in spell books and bestiaries but that didn’t make the real thing any less horrific. 

The pixies were three feet tall with mottled blue/grey skin that sagged and wrinkled around their skeletal bodies like elephant skin. Their huge, protruding eyes were filmed with either pale orange or white depending on gender and their ears spiked skywards with tufts of hair at the points. They didn’t have wings like some online sources had suggested but there were nubs of bone jutting out of their shoulder blades like there once had been something more there. The most hideous part of them, though, were their mouths. Their lips looked too big for their faces and rows and rows sharp teeth were visible when they growled... Like they were now. Fuck.

Every single one of the pixies in the mob had a weapon in their hands: miniature bows and swords and daggers that looked deadly sharp even though they were tiny.

The biggest pixie of the group stepped forward from the crowd and stopped mere yards away from Stiles and Derek. Derek started snarling. 

“Alpha Hale.” The pixie spoke with a heavy accent, one that Stiles recognised from years ago, but couldn’t pinpoint. He was also lisping around his sharp front teeth, too, which was more than a little off putting. “I am Szef Wróżka and-”

“No way,” Stiles butted in, a huge grin on his face even as the pixies bared their teeth at him and brandished their weapons as if that would stop him talking. He realised how he knew its accent. “Polish pixies?” He exclaimed gleefully. 

“Stiles... What?” Derek asked under his breath, not taking his eyes off the closest pixie. 

“Szef Wróżka. That’s Polish. It literally means ‘Chief Pixie’! I have to say,” he said, turning back to the so called Szef Wróżka, “It’s not at all original but, hey, who am I to talk about rubbish Polish names?”

“You are from our land, human child?” 

“My mother was.”

“You are a child of our country, more honourable than your American puppy. We shall converse with you.” Szef said, stepping forward and offering his hand, palm up. Stiles reached down and placed his own on top of it, ignoring Derek’s protests. According to 4 out of the 7 books Stiles had read, this was a customary gesture that pixies used when opening negotiations between clans. It meant that they could settle a situation easily and speak honestly without either side taking offence or resorting to violence. The temporary bond connecting them was tangible. They could feel it extending from their chests, down their arms and through their touching fingers. 

“What are Polish pixies doing in Northern California?” Stiles asked, staring into Szef’s orange eyes. 

“We came to America seeking refuge from a great evil in our homeland,” Szef stated, not deigning to elaborate, but Stiles didn’t really care. As long as that ‘great evil’ (seriously, pixies were melodramatic) stayed in Poland, it wasn’t a threat to the Pack. “How many are in your pack, child?” 

“First, I’m not a child, my name is Stiles,” he said, before glancing over at Derek who nodded minutely, giving him permission to answer on his behalf. “There are ten of us. Six werewolves and four humans, plus several more that we protect. Parents, family, that kind of thing. We don’t give names.”

“That is fair.” Szef replied, nodding.

“We think so. Did you kill this girl?” Stiles asked, gesturing to the girl in the white dress just next to Derek. 

“There was one among our number,” Szef said, looking uncomfortable as some of the other pixies growled menacingly. Derek took a step closer to Stiles and glared at them all. “He had gone insane. His eyes were bright vermillion.” Stiles’ confusion must have shown on his face because Szef decided to explain. “Our eyes get brighter as we lose our sanity. Males start pale orange, like mine. Females start white, like Biały,” a female pixie to his immediate right stepped forward. Her eyes were brilliant white and cold like ice. “They turn azure and begin to glow as females lose their minds.

“Ciemny’s eyes were almost red. He was, what you would call, feral,” Szef pointed at Derek as he said that, making the Alpha growl and flare his eyes as if to prove a point. “He killed this girl and he has been punished for his actions. We do not wish to upset the peace in this town, we were merely passing through. We apologise for both this, and the disruption at the tooth doctor.”

Stiles very nearly laughed. ‘Tooth doctor’. Geez.

“You’ll be gone by this evening?” Derek asked. Szef ignored him, staring straight ahead until Stiles repeated the question.

“We will be gone within the hour.”

“Do you swear?” Stiles asked, feeling like he was back on the playground pinky promising with Scott.

“I so swear.” 

“Then I think we’re finished here.”

~~~

The pixies were all set and ready to go within the hour, as promised, leavings gifts of a dead rabbit for Derek and a bunch of freshly picked wild flowers for Stiles which were pretty and thoughtful but more than a little emasculating. 

The dead girl was buried in an unmarked grave a couple of miles out into the forest and that, yeah, that bothered Stiles quite a lot but as Derek pointed out while they covered her body, the hunters would get suspicious if someone turned up with a gaping hole in their throat and the wolves would be first on their hit list. So Stiles managed to reason it all out in his head and ended up pretending the girl was just a giant Barbie doll instead of someone’s innocent daughter.

Everyone was happy. The pixies were leaving, there were no bodies to bring suspicion to the pack and Derek even smiled as Stiles shook Szef’s hand. It was his small, private smile that made Stiles feel as though he’d done something very right. He was also ridiculously proud that Derek had let him take the reigns with Szef and he hadn't fucked it up.

Yes, everyone was happy. 

So, of _course_ , that’s when the hunters turned up.

The only warning any of them got was Derek whipping around to look at a seemingly random point in the forest, his smile dropping off. Stiles immediately dropped Szef’s hand and stepped towards his Alpha until their arms touched.

A shriek echoed around them, bouncing off the trees and they all turned to the source, seeing a young pixie with eyes shining bright white clutching at her throat where the shaft of an arrow was sticking out. She yanked it free with a whimper and after a second of silence, dropped to the floor gurgling. Another second and she was dead. 

More shots and more dead pixies were all that followed. Blue blood stained the ground as they fell and Stiles still had yet to see a single one of the hunters. He knew that they weren’t Argents though, mostly because even if Chris was a dick a lot of the time, he stuck to The Code. No, these were others. 

Derek grabbed Stiles’ face in both of his hands urgently and whispered, “Run.” Then Derek was pushing him away and a small, oval object bounced into the clearing and clattered to a stop right in front of Biały, the pixie with the cold white eyes. She whined pitifully and looked over at Szef who was frozen looked downright heartbroken. She opened her mouth to speak and the grenade went off. 

~~~

Stiles was still slumped at the bottom of the tree he had flown into from the force of the explosion, watching the fight as it unfolded because he couldn’t quite convince his body that it needed to be upright which was going to be an issue because there were guns and knives and grenades in this fight. Someone would realise he wasn’t dead soon and that would be it – Stiles would be as good as dead.

The pixies were hissing and screeching, attacking with swords and daggers, bringing the hunters to the ground with slashes to knees and ankles then pinning them down, not quite killing them but rendering them completely useless. Szef was going from hunter to hunter bringing them down was frightening efficiency and moving onto the next almost immediately, leaving others to hold down his prey. 

Derek was doing the same, incapacitating but not killing, letting the pixies swarm what he’d taken down. 

“Well, well, well. Hello again,” a hunter whispered, crouching down next to Stiles and closing a hand around his neck. Stiles scrabbled at the hand, pulling as hard as he could. “You’re the omega,” the owner of the hand said, tilting his head to the side. Looking up, Stiles recognised it as the bastard that shot Derek with silver. The man tightened his fingers and Stiles dug his nails into the skin. “We’ve got you this time. You’re all just disgusting animals-”

That was all the man had time to say before there were claws raking across his throat, literally cutting off his words. Derek stayed stood over him from then, pushing his back down when he tried to stand and taking out any hunters who came too close. 

Soon enough, all the hunters were on the ground and pinned down by pixies, who must be stronger than they looked, with multiple sets of razor sharp teeth at their throats ready to kill at a moment’s notice. 

Szef stepped forward again, visibly trembling with rage and grief. 

“Are any of these humans under your protection?” He spat out, kicking the nearest hunter with his small, booted foot.

Derek hesitated a moment, looking around at the scene and then down to Stiles, who shrugged one shoulder from his position at the base of the tree. He couldn’t think about this now, the back of his head was throbbing and he felt very much like he was going to pass out at any second, if the blackness sliding onto the edges of his vision was any indication.

“No,” Derek answered decisively, “We do not protect these humans.”

The pixies had clearly been waiting for those words because within seconds they had all bitten down hard, tearing chunks out of the hunters’ necks and backed away, leaving them to gurgle and bleed out on the dusty floor. 

The image was too much for Stiles. He was going to have nightmares for years. There was no fighting unconsciousness now; he actually wanted it – anything to escape today’s events. It wasn’t even 8 o clock yet and he’d seen more dead bodies than most people saw in their entire lifetime. 

He let the soft darkness wrap all around him and listened to Derek yelling his name. It was strangely soothing to have Derek so close as he gave in.


	5. Mate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of imagine Garrett as Andrew Scott's Moriarty, accent and all :)  
> Also I have no idea if a pomegranate peach frappuccino is a thing; I've never been to Starbucks, so, sorry!

“My head hurts,” Stiles moaned at anyone who was listening, e.g. no one, “I think I might still be delirious. Everything’s a bit fuzzy around the edges. Oh my God, Scott, call the police! I think there’s a wolf outside! Oh, hey, Derek’s back!” He started mindlessly giggling as the rest of the pack stood up to welcome said wolf. “Hey Derek.” He whispered when the wolf nuzzled its nose into his hand slightly. “Looking good. Fur really suits you.” The wolf rolled its eyes then wandered into the next room.

They were clustered in the living room of Derek’s house. The whole pack had congregated at a more decent hour for the actual pack meeting, finding Stiles lying on his side on the couch in the daze, sinking into the plush cushions and talking about whatever came into his head: MJ from Spiderman, binary coding (baffling everyone but Danny, who told him binary was necessary for almost everything technological), the pros and cons of baseball as a high school sport and castrato singers (that had all the boys in the room looking pale and a bit nauseated, while the girls tried not to giggle). Yes, perhaps he’d hit his head a bit harder than any of them had thought.

Derek had gone to look around the woods to see if the hunters were definitely gone, taking only Boyd as backup because apparently he didn’t want to be too conspicuous, just creep around and see if he could find their camp and scare off anyone still there (“Yeeeeeah, because a huge black wolf and an equally huge black Boyd are totally inconspicuous, well done Sourwolf.”). 

Apparently all the hunters had either been killed or left the area though because the pair came back looking content and unharmed. Boyd had already shifted back from his beta form and was sitting with Erica resting on his shoulder in the corner, but Derek went somewhere private. He had to be naked when he shifted to his Alpha form because a shaggy black wolf wearing jeans and a Henley just wasn’t the look Derek was going for. 

When he returned though, he was fully dressed in black, head to army-boot-clad toes. Stiles groaned from the couch.

“You know, Derek, you should wear some kind of colour. Like... Red! To match your Angry-Alpha-Eyes. You could totally pull that off.” He said closing his eyes to picture it. He hummed appreciatively. 

“Has he been like this since we left?” Derek asked, pointing a finger at Stiles. Everyone nodded, muttering that they would’ve rather been in the woods hunting hunters. Stiles pouted and frowned. 

“He’s not _so much_ different to normal...” Allison said, in an attempt to spare Stiles’ feelings that completely backfired. Stiles sat up and leant his head gingerly back onto the cushion. He’d stopped bleeding and Scott had done his best to clean the shallow wound but _God_ it hurt. Who knew trees were so solid? Isaac shuffled over and sat next to him, huddling into his side and tucking his magical curls into Stiles’ neck. Derek eyed them curiously, his jaw set unhappily.

“Why are we here, Derek?” Lydia cut in, blunt as ever. Derek grunted a bit and pressed play on his already-set-up stereo system. It seemed that this was the real reason he’d called a pack meeting. A man’s voice played through the speakers. It had a cold and detached tone, and Stiles recognised a hint of Alpha-vibes. The voice reminded him of how Peter had been before Derek killed him, softly spoken, psychotic, with a point to prove. It was a scary mixture that made Stiles shiver and hold Isaac tighter. The rest of the pack looked equally unsettled.

_“I send my regards to the Hale pack. I wish to meet your Alpha. Bring your strongest pack mate, Derek Hale. Meet me at 415 Beaumont Street, seventeenth of August, midnight.”_

~~~

Five minutes later, Lydia and Jackson had been dispatched to get 10 cups of coffee and something sugary (“I don’t care what. Ooh actually, maybe those new Cinnamon Swirl things they have at Starbucks or their raspberry muffins, oh my God, seriously they’re orgasmic, but not as good as their rocky road, honestly it’s like-” “ _Okay_ , Stiles.”), while Allison and Danny went to fetch the latter’s laptop. Scott tagged along with them because obviously he and Allison couldn’t be over 3 feet away from each other for more than 20 seconds.

Derek was in the furthest corner on his phone to an Alpha in Idaho that Laura had known, asking quietly if he knew of any rogues in the area. Stiles couldn’t really make out what he was saying, but he looked serious and a little bit resigned, frowning but nodding. No good news there, whatever it was.

~~~

“But you have to take into account their size, as well, like height- and weight-wise or you can’t make a proper judgement.” Stiles was talking to the room about his wild theories. He knew no one was really listening, but Isaac kept making little noises of agreement into Stiles’ neck which were all the encouragement he needed. “Batman’s about 3 inches taller, but Bane makes up for it in muscle mass. Think about it, can you imagine Batman physically dominating Bane? No. That’s why Bane would top.”

“What about Poison Ivy?” Erica asked, turning to face Stiles.

“Well that’s different, because she has the spirit that would be needed to tame Bane, as shown in _Batman and Robin_. It’s not Tom Hardy’s Bane, so it’s not a proper comparison but she definitely has character. She’d almost certainly call the shots. Harley Quinn and The Joker, though, that’s the most interesting relationship in DC because of the abuse thing...”

~~~

Everyone was sick of Stiles’ voice by the time Lydia, Jackson, Allison, Danny and Scott returned so they distracted him with rocky road and a hideously coloured pomegranate peach frappuccino that seemed to actually offend Derek. He glared at it as he sipped his plain black coffee. Stiles hollowed his cheeks and sucked at the straw, winking at him. 

“So what do we do?” Scott asked when he noticed that Derek seemed incapable of talking.

“I’m looking up the address now,” Danny said, tapping away at his laptop, “It’s over on the East side of town, right on the outskirts. Everything that way looks pretty wrecked, all smashed windows and abandoned buildings... It’s a warehouse. We could surround it then send Derek and Boyd in?” 

“Isn’t he an Alpha though? Wouldn’t he know?” Allison asked. She’d grabbed her smallest crossbow from her car and was cleaning the mechanisms carefully. Stiles had noticed over the months that she has a kind of routine when it comes to pre-fight maintenance of her weapons. It’s almost ritualistic how she polishes her arrows and bolts, then the handle, then the string, then all the fiddly bits that Stiles didn’t have a name for.

“Yes.” Derek finally contributed, swigging down the last of his coffee. “He’ll know you’re there.” He set his cup on the floor and started pacing around the edges of the room like he was trapped. “And I’m not taking Boyd.” 

Boyd nodded and accepted the verdict. He was a good beta and would listen to, and trust, whatever his Alpha said. Erica, however, was not like that.

“Are you kidding? He wanted you and your strongest pack mate. That’s obviously Boyd.” She said with such finality that it was hard to disagree with. Hard, but not impossible. Both Scott and Jackson objected, moaning that they’re just as strong until Derek called them to order.

“Physically, you are all strong.” Stiles rolled his eyes. It sounded like consolation for losing the Miss America competition or something. What do we want? Supernatural world peace, please. ASASP. He went back to slurping at his drink and tapping rhythms on the plastic cup. The others had this covered. “But that’s not what we need.”

“What if he’s not... agreeable. What if he fights?” Danny asked, leaning back from his laptop and frowning at the screen. 

“He won’t fight.” Derek stated, obviously sure of himself. Three of his betas started to contradict him. “ _But_ , I’m fairly sure I could take him.” 

“But why not take Boyd? Make sure?” Allison asked, pinging the string of her bow and looking satisfied with it. 

“I’m strong enough. End of story.” Derek answered, Alpha-vibes buzzing madly. “I’m taking Stiles.” 

Stiles let the straw fall out of his mouth as he gaped at Derek.

_Everyone_ starts to object. 

“Are you insane?” 

_“Stiles?”_

“What the hell?”

“He’s not strong. No offense, man.”

“Offense taken, _man_.” 

“Him? _Seriously?!”_

Derek let out a seriously scary growl, teeth bared, eyes red and snarling. All the wolves hung their heads and looked at the floor, Isaac whined in Stiles’ ear, Stiles wrapped his arms tighter around Isaac, frowning at Derek and Danny grabbed at his laptop like it was a life jacket.

“Dude, chill the fuck out!” Stiles spat out at him, the only person in the room not scared by Derek’s posturing. Derek would never seriously hurt any of them unless there was no other option and him growling when the pack had questioned one of his decisions was not okay. “Explain.” He commanded. Everyone stared at him, mouths open. Yep, he was surprised too. He’d given the Alpha an order – he was damn lucky his windpipe was still intact.

“Okay,” Derek muttered to the floor, not making eye contact with Stiles. Lydia was looking at Stiles with a contemplative expression, like she was trying to figure him out, then her face cracked open with a huge smile, brilliant and dazzling, just a small reminder of why Stiles had chased after her for so long. “I’m strong enough to take down this Alpha. Laura’s friend in Idaho confirmed that. I don’t need physical strength, I need strategy and support. I need Stiles.” 

Stiles very much liked the sound of that. Derek _needed_ him. He didn’t bother trying to hide his happy grin, let it take over his face as he took another sip and looked at Derek, Derek who apparently needs Stiles. 

“So what’s the plan, then?” Jackson asked impatiently, looking more than a little stung that he was suddenly lower on Derek’s list than Stiles. 

“Me and Stiles go to the warehouse on Saturday,” Derek replied with a shrug, leaning casually against the doorframe. “We talk to this Alpha, ask him to leave. If he doesn’t, we kill him before he kills us.”

“Sounds like a great plan,” Stiles rolled his eyes, suddenly not so impressed that Derek chose him now that actual death was an option.

~~~

Saturday came around much too fast for Stiles. A few days previously he had been nicely sleeping in his bed, then he got a call at some ungodly hour demanding his presence in the woods, then he was negotiating with pixies and fighting off hunters and suddenly he was being sent into an abandoned warehouse with nothing but Derek for protection. Oh, and his dad’s spare handgun that he had commandeered before he left, loaded up with silver bullets that he... uh... borrowed... from the Argents. 

What has his life become? 

He and Derek crept through the front doors of the warehouse at exactly midnight. Stiles could see how tense Derek was – listening for any hint of trouble, sniffing at the air, darting his eyes into the darkest corners of the building, looking for any sign of their rogue Alpha.

“Nothing. He’s not here.” Derek sighed, frustrated that he couldn’t even get a sense of what they were up against. 

“Just can’t get the right type of psychotic, murderous Alpha werewolf,” Stiles said mockingly, rolling his eyes and clicking his tongue.  
“Funny.” Derek moved closer to Stiles and lowers his voice. “When he gets here, you need to be careful. Don’t get all mouthy and... sassy.”

“Would I?”

The doors opened behind them and they whirled around to see a man with dark brown, slicked back hair standing in the doorway, posture calm and casual with his hands in his trouser pockets. He was wearing a sharp black suit, which seemed strange to Stiles. Maybe he missed the memo. The suit fit in all the right places, pulling tight over his chest and arms. He looked good. He was definitely a few years older than Derek, probably in his early thirties but his face looked tired, as though the world has treated him badly. Stiles felt a pang on sympathy, but it disappeared quickly when he saw the man’s eyes. 

They were glowing red, yes, but that’s not what startled Stiles, he’d actually gotten used to seeing glowing eyes all over the place. Seriously, when did that happen? What was shocking was the expression of malice, of cruel intent that foreshadows agonising pain, the way they lit up with amusement when they looked Stiles up and down, like this was a game and Derek and Stiles had already lost. The similarities to Peter made Stiles’ stomach jolt. 

“This is your strongest pack mate?” He smirked a little as he took a few steps closer to them, letting the doors swing shut behind him. The warehouse was dark now with only the emergency lights and the Alpha’s eyes still glowing. “Clever, Mister Hale. Figured you could beat me? Needed the moral support more than the physical? He is handsome, I’ll give you that.” 

Stiles almost choked on his own spit. He was in a room with two of the hottest werewolves he’d ever seen and they were discussing his physical attractiveness like it was the weather. He kind of wanted to crawl into a corner and hide from them. 

“Who are you?” Stiles asked. Derek stepped diagonally forwards so he was slightly in front of Stiles.

“You,” he pointed to Derek, “can call me Garrett. But you,” Garrett turned his attention to Stiles, eyes flaring impossibly brighter, “You can call me anything you like.” He winked and licked his lips suggestively.

Derek growled and sank into a half-crouch, his nails extending and sharpening.

“Half the names I have for you aren’t suitable for polite conversation, dickwad.” Stiles threw back instinctively, realising a second too late that it might not be a good idea to taunt an angry, determined Alpha. “Derek.” He dropped his hand onto _his_ Alpha’s shoulder and pulled him back slightly, unsurprised when he was shrugged off. 

“Does he know?” Garrett asked nonchalantly, directing the question Derek. “Does he know his role in the pack?” His lips turned up into that same smirk as he glanced at Stiles who was trying not to show his confusion. Garrett was your standard bully – just trying to get a rise out of his victims. Admittedly most of the people who picked on Stiles in school weren’t as pointy and vicious as Garrett, but the concept was the same. Don’t react; they’ll get bored and drift away. “He doesn’t!” Garret gasped and pointed at them. “Can I tell him? Or can I _steal_ him? You obviously don’t want him if you haven’t claimed him...” 

Stiles’ hand itched towards the holster he was wearing under his shirt. He was getting pretty sick of this Garrett guy talking in riddles and not getting to the point, but could he actually shoot him for confusing people with words? Wasn’t that Stiles’ very own MO? 

Derek was mightily pissed off as well, growling and snarling and baring his teeth. 

“You really have grown up, Derek. Last time I saw you, you were twelve years old and couldn’t control your shifts properly.”

“That was a long time ago,” Derek grumbled around his elongated teeth. Stiles tried not to think about Derek’s lisp – he knew that both the Alphas in the room would be able to hear his heart hammering away in his ribcage. “My family were still alive... As was Haley.” 

The effect of Derek’s words was instantaneous. Garrett’s cool, calm facade dropped away and he let his nails and teeth grow, literally howling at the sky. The noise bounced off the corrugated ceiling and the concrete floor, going round and round and the sound was so sad, so despairing and anguished that when it was finished reverberating, Stiles could barely bring himself to ask. 

“Who was Haley?” He whispered, his voice sounding broken even to him. 

“She was my mate!” Garrett snapped. When he didn’t elaborate, Stiles gave Derek a questioning glance.

“Haley,” Derek started after clearing his throat. “Haley was killed by hunters. She wasn’t a wolf... They used her to lure Garrett in... Then slashed her throat... right in front of him...” He finished quietly. 

Stiles didn’t know what made him do it, he really didn’t, maybe it was some basic need to try and comfort Garrett or maybe he just had a death wish, but he slowly stepped around Derek to move closer to the heartbroken Alpha. Derek grabbed his arm as he walked past through, trying to pull him back and away from the threat. Stiles pulled away. 

“I know what it’s like,” Stiles began, his voice hoarse and low, “To lose someone important. Admittedly I lost my mother, not my mate, but I know how hard it is. Derek does too, you know that.” He looked directly into Garrett’s eyes, trying to ignore the hatred and the pain and the red. “It hurts. It hurts fucking _loads_. We know that. We understand.”

“Stiles...” Derek said urgently, grabbing his wrist again and holding on. 

“Wait.” He murmured over his shoulder, lacing their fingers together. He needed something to anchor him in that moment. “My mother used to say this thing and I never really understood it, I was like eight when she died, but... She used to say _‘spring will always come’_. And I never got it, because of course spring comes every year, but that wasn’t what she meant. She meant that things _always_ get better. Even if it’s been a particularly long, hard winter – animals and crops dying, hypothermia, snow, the whole business – spring will always come, things will get better again. You just have to trust that, Garrett.” 

Garrett’s eyes blazed crimson again and he roared, throwing himself at Stiles and yanking him away from Derek’s strong hand. Stiles didn’t even have time to properly panic before his back was pulled against Garrett’s chest and he had claws pressing against his throat. He will deny, to the grave, that he squealed. 

“You let him speak like this?” Garrett growled next to his ear, sending shivers shooting down his spine.

Everything in the warehouse was silent and absolutely still for half a minute. No one moved, Garrett didn’t seem to be breathing, Stiles was deafened by his own elevated, thumping heartbeat and Derek’s eyes looked oddly watery. The sight of Derek so vulnerable combined with memories of his mother and the fact that he may be about to die made Stiles’ own eyes fill with tears, warping his view of the warehouse. 

“Garrett, please.” Stiles heard Derek say imploringly, sounding breathless and croaky. “Garrett... You lost your mate...” 

Derek’s words must have carried more weight for wolves than for humans, because Garrett’s claws disappeared from his neck and he was pushed back towards Derek, who caught him and held him close, cradling his head with one hand, the other winding around his waist. Stiles held on too, his face buried in Derek’s neck.

They stayed like that until they heard a mournful howl in the distance. 

~~~

It’s safe to say that between the panic of the pixies and hunters and nearly having his throat torn out, Stiles was exhausted when Derek dropped him back home. He stumbled out of the Camaro and walked towards his porch, only realising that Derek was shadowing him when he tripped on the steps and two strong hands grabbed him and set him upright. He fumbled with the keys for a few seconds before Derek took them, deftly slotted it in and swung the door open. 

“Listen,” Derek said quietly once Stiles was inside, “Would you mind if I stayed tonight? You’re on his radar now...”

“Come in the window,” Stiles answered, gesturing his hand at the second storey. Derek nodded, but said he’d move the car first, just in case. 

~~~

By the time that Stiles had changed, brushed his teeth and returned to his bedroom, Derek was sat in his desk chair staring out the window at the moon and looking sadder than Stiles had ever seen him. He watched for a moment, wishing he could do something to make Derek happier, but nothing came to mind. 

“You should go to sleep, it’s late,” Derek said, without looking round at him. 

“Come on, then,” Stiles agreed, trying to sound cheerful, but failing by about 94%. He dragged himself over to the bed and flopped on the side nearest the wall, patting the covers next to him when he saw Derek hadn’t moved and was just staring at the bed.

“With you?”

“Yes, with me, unless you have a basket somewhere. Come on, I’m tired.” Stiles whined, falling back onto the pillows dramatically. “Come on, puppy.” He said softly, cajolingly, stroking the duvet. He smiled in victory as he felt Derek lying awkwardly next to him, fully clothed, even with his jacket on. “Derek?” He said quietly, after a moment of reflection. 

“Stiles?” Derek replied, mimicking his tone perfectly. It made Stiles smile.

“Um... You...” He cleared his throat. “You really think I’m pack?” He blurted out without properly thinking it through. He felt Derek tense up next to him and squeezed his eyes shut. “Because I never really counted myself as pack, so I won’t be disappointed if you say no, but I was just wondering because Garrett said bring your strongest pack mate and you said you were taking me, like taking me to the warehouse, not _taking_ me taking me, obviously, because that’s like... Yeah. So I was shocked because I didn’t think I was _pack_ , let alone _strong pack_... So, ah, yeah. Never mind, forget it.” 

Derek said nothing for a few minutes, only lay in silence. Stiles didn’t dare open his eyes on the basis that what he doesn’t see can’t hurt him and if he saw rejection on Derek’s face... Well, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. 

“Stiles,” Derek said carefully, picking over his words, “Of course you’re pack. How can you not know that by now?” 

Stiles felt the movement as Derek moved closer to him, close enough for their arms to touch and their feet to brush together. He felt better, like knowing his Alpha was right there and not running away or leaving him behind was calming his nerves. It was soothing and he could feel himself drifting. Part of him wanted to sleep – perhaps get in his first proper night of rest since the whole Pixie Palaver a few days ago – but the other part, the dominant part, wanted desperately to finish this conversation and figure out what his ‘role in the pack’ was, as Garrett had put it.

“I figured... I wasn’t needed. Not a wolf, not a fighter, just... Me. Useless.” He mumbled, knowing that this probably sounded like a pity party, but oh well. Maybe it was a pity party. 

“You’re not useless, Stiles.” 

“You have to say that.” 

“I really don’t.” Derek could smell Stiles’ insecurity and it was choking him. He’d never had to deal with a member of his pack being insecure of their position before. There’d always been a hint of inferiority-complex in Stiles, but Derek had had no idea that it was that bad – so bad that Stiles didn’t think of himself as pack. His wolf whined and reached out to comfort the boy, so he rolled onto his side and pulled him close, wrapping his arms around his waist and ignoring the indignant noises.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles hissed half-heartedly, letting himself be tucked up into Derek’s arms. It felt better than it should, being pressed against hard chest muscles and smelling Derek’s very own personal cologne, so he didn’t wriggle away or lash out, he relaxed into it, feeling a large hand moving to clasp his hip. He sighed, content. This was where he wanted to be, after all – not just now or for the night... Forever.

“This is what packs do. We take comfort in touch.” 

Stiles was quickly leaving consciousness now, so he couldn’t help it when he said:

“Is that why I want to kiss you all the time?” It sounded distorted, even to him, and he prayed to all the gods that Derek wouldn’t be able to make out what he said. 

Not that what he said wasn’t true, just that a man as unattainable and out of his league as Derek didn’t need to know how he felt. He would wake up in the morning, claim that he didn’t remember – blame exhaustion, the head wound, drugs, anything he could get away with to avoid it. That was the plan. Until he felt Derek squeeze him tighter and nuzzle into his neck, leaving tingling marks on his skin where his lips touched and he forgot why he was even thinking about pretending. 

“Go to sleep Stiles.” Derek whispered into his ear, catching it with his lips. “Sleep.” 

So he did.


	6. Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to start by saying thank you to everyone who has read this and that I appreciate your reviews and stuff so very, very much. I don't reply to them because I'm shy and I never know how to say thank you without sounding pathetic and/or like I don't really care but I DO, YOU HAVE NO IDEA.  
> So yeah, thanks, like a lot. 
> 
> This chapter concludes our little story so enjoy it!
> 
> Dizzy xx

Derek is pissed off. Not least of all because Stiles has insisted on planning a pack party on the last weekend of the summer holidays, at _Derek’s_ house, with _Derek’s_ money, but entirely without _Derek’s_ permission. Sure, he had allowed himself to be dragged to the supermarket to buy endless spring rolls and garlic mushrooms and curly fries but only because Stiles had taken him by surprise first thing in the morning. 

Besides, how could he say no when that mouth was being all pouty and so fucking _kissable?_

That mouth and all the things he could do to it have been the basis of Derek’s fantasies all summer and it’s getting to the point that he’ll have to physically restrain himself if he has to stare at it any longer. So, yes, he went shopping on the basis that Stiles would stop doing tempting things with his mouth. 

Which he didn’t. Because, of course, who wouldn’t want to try the free samples of ice cream and cheese and the fucking cocktail sausages that nearly gave Derek an aneurysm? And who wouldn’t want to make the filthiest noises on Earth when said samples were good? 

But that shopping trip was over fairly quickly and now Stiles is flitting about Derek’s house like he owns the place, stringing up fairy lights, putting cloths on tables, chattering constantly about the girls’ plans for makeovers before hand and Isaac’s objections that he wouldn’t be fun at a party as well as another million things that Derek can’t concentrate on because Stiles looks _edible._

He’s wearing a plain navy blazer with a white T-Shirt underneath, blue converse and black jeans that make his ass look fantastic. Derek keeps catching himself staring and eventually retreats to the kitchen, a safe distance from Stiles and any ass-related thoughts.

~~~

Three hours later and Derek has to admit that this party isn’t going as horribly as he’d imagined.

He’d been basing him assumptions of what it would be like from the (admittedly limited) parties he had gone to when he was a teenager. Before the fire... before Kate... he used to be invited everywhere. Everyone wanted Derek Hale at their parties, if only to gloat to their friends that he chose _them_ to socialise with. He rarely accepted invitations, but when he did he was constantly surrounded by girls trying to dance with him and flirt with him. 

Back then, parties had been stifling and he always left early, but tonight no one is crowding him (apart from Stiles, which he doesn’t mind one bit), no one is leering at him (apart from Lydia, but it’s more... knowing than predatory) and Boyd turned the music down as soon as he arrived. It’s... nice. 

So nice, in fact, that he’s been lulled into a false sense of security and feels like banging his head against the wall repeatedly when someone grabs a bottle and his pack start sitting in a circle on the floor. Derek hangs back, sitting on the couch nearest the door and Isaac joins him a few seconds later muttering about not wanting to ruin his first kiss, which Derek thinks is so _Isaac_ that he doesn’t question it, but lets the pup lean against him.

Derek would never pick favourites in his pack but... Isaac is his favourite. Calm, quiet, embraces the idea of pack. A friend, not just a beta. But he’s not all that Derek needs. Derek needs a smart mouth to tell him when he’s being a dick, a kind smile to anchor him, bright eyes to look out for him...

Bright eyes that are gazing at him, as he gazes right back.

Stiles looks away as soon as Lydia leans forward to spin the empty coke bottle. The room seems to hold its breath until it finally glides to a halt, neck pointing directly at Boyd and everyone cheers. Lydia raises her eyebrows at Erica, who just gestures her forward. Derek practically hears her saying ‘go ahead, sister, sharing is caring!’ 

Their kiss is fairly chaste, compared to what Boyd and Erica normally get up to and there’s not much fuss about it, Lydia sits back next to Jackson and Erica leans over to kiss Boyd. 

“Hmm, I can taste her on you,” Erica says as she leans in again, “I quite like that.” 

(Derek didn’t know at the time, but that kiss between Lydia and Boyd would eventually lead to a happy open relationship between Erica, Boyd and anyone who cared to join them. Derek will always ignore how much Peter sometimes smells like Erica.)

The game moves on and every time the bottle approaches Stiles, Derek wills it to keep moving, hoping to God that no one tries to even touch Stiles. But, obviously, the universe likes to throw all of Derek’s hopes right back in his face with a side dish of ‘you never thought of this, but here you go’. 

Danny. Of course it would be Danny, the one guy playing the game that Stiles could actually date because they’re both into guys. _Of fucking course._

Danny literally saunters over to Stiles and _straddles him_ , kneels over his legs and rests his hands on Stiles’ shoulders like they have any right at all to be there. He leans in slowly and... 

“Derek, you okay?” Isaac whispers right next to Derek’s ear. 

Stiles makes a tiny noise – like a whimper – and Danny starts to kiss him in earnest, tongue working his mouth and deepening the kiss, pressing closer and touching everywhere he can reach . Stiles lifts his hands and fists them in Danny’s hair. Someone wolf-whistles. 

“Derek? Are you alright?” Isaac asks, sounding concerned.

Danny breaks away for a second muttering something that sounds appreciative and then pushes him down against the floor. Stiles immediately goes for his neck, licking a trail up the tendons, eliciting a groan and a blissed-out look from Danny. Scott clears his throat and Jackson looks awkwardly at Lydia, who is staring sympathetically at Derek.

Isaac says his name again, sounding terrified, and Derek finally stops watching Stiles, _his_ Stiles making out with Danny on his lounge floor. He looks at Isaac instead, who flinches back. Derek ignores Danny’s noises long enough to feel his sharp fangs protruding over his lips and realise that his claws are digging holes into the upholstery and that rumbling? Yep, that’s him, on his way to full on I’m-going-to-kill-someone-how-dare-he-touch-what’s-mine Alpha mode. 

Lydia clears her throat loudly and stands up. Just like that, Danny and Stiles jerk apart and look guiltily around the room. Derek can feel Stiles’ eyes on him as he tries to get the shift under control and rein his teeth back in, or at least stop his eyes glowing so he can stand in a corner and blend into the shadows or something. 

“Not that that wasn’t fun,” Lydia says loudly, clapping her hands together, “but perhaps we should do something else?”

Derek makes a mental note to buy Lydia something nice and completely useless as he and Isaac stand up. He checks that all his claws are back in his fingers before marching stiffly out of the house. He needs to put some room between him and Danny, before he tears the guy’s head off.

~~~

 _It’s not their fault._ Derek tells himself as he runs out towards the forest. _They don’t know. They don’t understand._

If anything, it’s Derek’s fault and he knows that. If he was so against seeing Stiles with anyone else then he should’ve told him how he was feeling instead of running away like the coward he is. 

As soon as he reaches the tree line, he sheds his clothes and goes full wolf, let’s the animal take over and runs on pure instinct. He tears through the trees and relishes the feeling of dirt under his paws, the smell of pine, the sound of the wind whistling past his ears as he races through, running harder than he ever has in an attempt to drown out the world. 

_Stiles. His mate, Stiles._

He stops dead as the single human thought smashes its way into his mind. 

He throws back his head and howls.

~~~

By dawn, his howls have died down to feeble whines as he crawls back to where he left his clothes. He shifts back to human reluctantly, knowing that he’ll have to go back into his house and face whatever is waiting for him. He hopes that someone sensible like Isaac or Boyd will have taken the initiative and sent everyone home eventually, but his pack isn’t known for being sensible and he’s pretty sure he’ll have to deal with at least one person he doesn’t want to see. 

Sure enough, when he drags himself up the porch and into the unlocked house, Stiles is sat on the stairs leaning on the banister under Derek’s duvet, his lips parted slightly. Derek takes a moment to appreciate the sight of Stiles in his bedding before he shuts the front door and makes his way to the kitchen. 

“We’re gonna have to talk about this eventually,” Stiles mumbles from behind him, voice still hoarse and hazy from sleep. 

“Go back to sleep.” He says over his shoulder. Stiles shuts up. Derek assumes he’s dozed off again because there’s no way Stiles would let himself be ordered around like that otherwise. Lydia is sat at the breakfast bar with a pot of coffee when he reaches the kitchen so Derek grabs a mug and pours himself some, not making eye contact with her. He leans on the counter and looks out of the window at the trees, pretending not to feel her laser-eyes boring into the back of his head.

“He’d understand if you told him,” she says casually, taking another sip of her coffee, “Actually I’m pretty sure he... wants it.”

Derek isn’t stupid. He knows when he’s rumbled and, honestly, he’s not surprised that Lydia figured it out, she’s anything but an idiot. Besides, he’s kind of glad it’s Lydia he’s talking to about this; Derek trusts her to give him her honest opinion, not matter what it is or how bitchy it sounds. But she’s not a wolf, she doesn’t understand how the mating bond works, she can’t possibly know how much his wolf wanted to hurt Danny last night for touching what is his – make an example of him to warn others away.

“You’re not a wolf.”

“No, but I’m no fool either,” she blows gently on her coffee. Derek can’t disagree with her on that front. Lydia is smart as a whip; she could even give Laura a run for her money, but that would involve the two of them in a room together and may end in world domination. “Look, I’m not going to tell him but you definitely should or Danny will take him and lock him in a tower for his own personal use.” Derek growls but she only laughs and hops down from her stool. “Stiles wants _you_ , not Danny. You should’ve seen him after you left. He went crazy. Check your phone.”

He stands alone in the kitchen for a while until he sighs, perches on Lydia’s empty chair and pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans, which were hung over a tree branch all night as he crashed aimlessly through the woods.

_17 missed calls. 11 voice mails. 15 texts._

He scrolls through the texts slowly, growing more and more... amused? All fifteen are from Stiles, starting out with ‘Where are you?’ moving to ‘Get your furry ass back here now!’ accompanied by varied and increasingly violent threats, and then onto ‘Please, Derek, come back home.’ Which nearly has him whining again, yearning to go through to his mate and lie down with him; apologise that he’s such a bad person for running. 

All the calls are from Stiles, too, the most recent coming in just over an hour ago. He can hear the sounds of the party in the background of the first few but it eventually dies down until it’s just Stiles’ exhausted voice, begging and apologising and letting out frustrated sighs. 

Derek answers with his own sigh. 

“Yeah, I was a bit worried.” 

He swivels around and sees Stiles leaning against the door frame nonchalantly, looking at the phone in Derek’s hand and biting his lip. 

“Why?” Is all that he can think to say. He’s not even sure what he means by it: ‘why did you kiss Danny?’, ‘why were you worried?’, ‘why are you here?’... He wants answers to all of them but, for now, it’s just... why? 

“Dude,” Stiles glares at him and starts pacing around the kitchen island, tapping his fingers on every surface he passes, “You just _left_ , you didn’t even stick around to talk about it, you just disappeared! You were out all night, you weren’t answering your phone, what if... What if the hunters-?” He stops suddenly and Derek can hear his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. Purely on impulse, he stands up to go and hug Stiles, his _mate_ , who he has made feel completely miserable and scared and worried with one dick move in the spur of the moment. 

Isaac bounds into the kitchen when he’s still a metre or so away from Stiles. 

“So, what are we going to do today?” Isaac asks, pouring himself coffee and going to stand with Stiles, who steals a sip before handing it back and starting to talk quickly about needing to be home to cook for his dad, something about holiday work he’s not started yet. Derek forces his hands back to his sides and steps away again, watching Stiles talking. What he’s saying isn’t out of the ordinary, but how he’s saying it worries Derek. The tone is all wrong, he sounds sad, he’s not flailing at all. It’s not Stiles.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asks quietly, standing directly between them with his back to Derek. 

“Yes. I’m fine.” Stiles whispers. His heartbeat goes crazy. Isaac whines in his throat and Derek can imagine the expression he’s wearing, all sad and puppy dog. “Seriously, I’m fine.” With that, he strides out of the kitchen muttering about really needing to get home to start cooking, even though it’s barely 11AM. A few seconds later, they hear the front door close quietly behind him.

~~~

“Well, may I be the first to tell you that you screwed that up, big time,” Lydia walks back into the kitchen a few seconds after Stiles’ departure with the most condescending look Derek has ever seen. “But it’s ok, Derek.” She adds, obviously seeing how hopeless and forlorn he looks. 

“What’s going on?” Isaac asks, “Did I say something wrong?” 

“No, of course not, honey. Derek’s just really hurt Stiles’ feelings, is all.” Lydia answers matter-of-factly. Derek growls, because that’s what he does when faced with a truth that he really doesn’t like. He denies it.

“He kissed Danny first,” he grumbles.

“Yes, in a game of spin the bottle. And, hey, Danny is hot and a fantastic kisser, as is Stiles, incidentally, so sue them for enjoying it. Maybe if you’d got your act together sooner-”

“This is _not my fault_.” 

“Derek this is entirely your fault! You ran away when-”

“Please don’t argue...” Isaac says. They both look at him guiltily. “What’s going on?” 

“Stiles is Derek’s mate,” Lydia answers immediately, “Oh, please, stop growling Derek, everyone’s going to know soon enough. Anyway, Derek got a bit angry when Danny kissed Stiles, so he ran away from the issue and spent the night romping around the woods by the look of him. In the process he drove Stiles marginally insane by ignoring all his calls and texts and annoyed me with his albeit reasonable, but no less frustrating, emotional issues.” She levels Derek with a cold glare. “Did I miss anything?” 

Derek can only shake his head. It’s finally sinking in just how much damage he did by running away last night. 

“Ok, so you’re going to find him now, right?” Isaac asks, sounding more than a bit confused.

“Yes he is. Shower first, though. Go on!” 

Wondering vaguely how his life became this soap-director’s wet dream, Derek lets himself be ushered into the bathroom by Lydia.

~~~

Derek’s halfway to Stiles’ house when he realises that, despite Lydia’s coaching as he got dressed in the outfit she picked out for him, he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. Does he go in through Stiles’ window, or be polite and knock on the door like a normal human would do? How does he even broach a subject like this? He doesn’t think ‘hey, you may be my mate, think you can forget what an ass I am and love me how I love you?’ will go down well at all.

Although, according to Lydia, Stiles wants this just as much as Derek does. 

But why would he? Who would want Derek, of all people? Especially when that person is Stiles – with his perfect doe eyes and full lips and his apparently above-par kissing skills. Stiles could have anyone in the world, so why would he pick Derek?

~~~

 _Why break tradition?_ Derek asks himself as he sits in his car outside Stiles’ house. The Sheriff’s car isn’t there, so he assumes he’s out on shift. _Might as well use the window. It’s open._

He steps towards the house and climbs up to Stiles’ window. He’s been in here enough times to know which path up the wall is best and quietest and he will deny to the end of the Earth that it was him who broke their gutter and fixed it with duct tape a few months ago. No way was that him. He slips into the room silently, like a shadow, and stands by the window watching Stiles at his computer, satisfied that he is unheard and unseen.

He watches, hypnotised, as his fingers fly across the keyboard tapping out hundreds of words before he pauses.

“So... does this means we were destined to be together?” Stiles says, out of the blue. 

_He knows, oh crap, he knows. He’s going to hate me. He’s probably disgusted by me. What am I doing here?_

“Stop freaking out over there,” Stiles sighs and swivels his chair around to face Derek, who is braced to jump out the window at any moment. 

“Have you been talking to Lydia?” Derek asks quietly, crossing his arms and hunching in on himself. Damn her. 

“No,” Stiles says, standing up, “Why? Did you tell her?” 

“How do you know, then?” He asks, ignoring the other questions, “Look, it’s not definite, I can stay away from you, I’ll never bother you again if-”

He stops abruptly when Stiles moves over to his dresser and throws a stack of print-outs onto the bed between them. Derek steps forward instinctively and looks at the headlines of the Wikipedia articles he’s printed off. _Bonded, Unbonded and Soulbonded_ , is the name of the top article. Derek brushes his fingers over the highlighted words: _mates for life_ and _permanently attached_. He feels a brief glimmer of hope in his chest, but quashes it quickly. This does not mean that Stiles is accepting him as a friend, let alone a mate. 

“I mean, it took time to research it, but...” Stiles rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and shuffles his feet. Derek finds an article about claiming a mate and steps back, feeling his cheeks burning. 

“When did you start looking?” He asks carefully, instead of tackling Stiles to the floor and letting his wolf take over. 

“Um, after Garrett left? I... I wanted to know my place in the pack. He kept talking about... c-claiming me and at first I thought he just meant claiming me as one of your pack, as in you hadn’t turned me, but then I started digging and Googled werewolf claiming. You weren’t going to give me answers, so I found them for myself. There’s some really weird stuff. Like, seriously, the Twilight fanfiction alone was enough to scar me for life. Then I started thinking and well, you know, I figured it out... but I might be wrong. Oh God, that would be embarrassing.” 

“Stiles,” Derek cuts in, “You’re... You aren’t wrong.” 

Stiles’ eyes flick up to meet Derek and he feels like running again, just getting the hell out of here and cutting his losses before Stiles makes him regret every life choice he’s ever made. 

But then Stiles lights up like the fucking sun. He grins and his eyes practically glitter as he stares at Derek, wondering and full of... affection? Love? 

“Get your ass over here right now, puppy.” The name stirs something in Derek, a feeling of happiness and belonging somewhere with other people, with his mate. He steps around the bed and slowly walks to Stiles, who wraps his arms around Derek’s waist and rests his head on his chest. Derek closes his eyes and breathes in Stiles’ scent, smelling a mixture of pack and contentment and Stiles’ very own scent, a smell that Derek always has and always will love more than life itself. 

That smell of home.

He draws back a bit and Stiles looks right into his eyes, like they have the answers to the universe buried in them if only he looks deep enough. 

“You can kiss me... If you want,” Stiles says coyly, tipping his head to the side slightly and batting his eyelashes, somehow managing to make it look sarcastic. Hey, if anyone can do it, Stiles can. 

“Shut up.” Derek inches closer, teasing him with slow movements. Then he leans forward and their lips meet at last. He savours the warmth that spreads over him, starting at the contact point and soaring through his veins and muscles like wildfire. He can hear both their heartbeats speeding up, beating in unison as Derek carefully bites Stiles’ lower lip, taking it in his mouth and sucking gently. He chuckles at the needy moan that he gets in return and throws himself into satisfying Stiles. 

He licks into his mouth and Stiles opens up to welcome him eagerly. Derek can feel Stiles’ hands all over him, running up and down his back, through his hair, over his stubble and he _loves_ it. He loves that Stiles wants this as much as him, knowing that they can finally stop dancing around each other and just be together.

“Forever. Is that right?” Stiles gasps as he breaks away. Derek moves to his jaw line, letting his teeth graze over the skin there. “It said ‘for life’. _Please_ tell me that’s right.”

“Yes,” Derek says in between kisses to Stiles’ throat. “I’m yours, forever.”

“Mine?”

“Yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr: http://imtheanomaly.tumblr.com/  
> I don't do much over there except reblog Benedict Cumberbatch and cat gifs but feel free to check it out :)


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